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About Genoa

Angry, I get! Society, bah—judges them harsh, but survival, it is! DNA don’t care bout morals, just replication. Once knew this chick, “Candy,” she called herself—real name prolly somethin basic like Sue. Worked near a lab I crashed at, late nights, pipettin enzymes. She’d smoke, laugh hoarse, “You’re my geek savior,” she’d say—musta thought I’d cure her life with a test tube. Sad, it made me, her spark fadin like ATP runnin dry. “Amour” hits here— “You’re slipping away,” he tells her, helpless. Same deal, watchin Candy dissolve.

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So, I’m walkin’ down Via Garibaldi, and I see this little café. I’m starving, right? I pop in for a quick bite. I order a panini, and while I’m waitin’, I overhear this couple arguing. Like, full-on shouting. I’m just trying to enjoy my food, and they’re throwing around words like “tradimento” and “gelosia.” I’m like, “Chill, guys! It’s just a sandwich!” But hey, drama makes the day interesting, right?

On ‘The Garden of the Finzi-Continis’